


The Price She Paid

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Dark, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, First Time, Forced Marriage, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I'm Going to Hell, Incest, Infertility, Mental Instability, Non-Linear Narrative, Slavery, Threesome - F/F/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 00:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4645188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What did it take to make her as stark raving mad as Bellatrix became? </p><p>  <i>For the love of all things holy, heed the warnings!</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price She Paid

**Author's Note:**

> Guys. GUYS. This fic has all the warnings. ALL OF THEM. And it has them for good reason. This fic is pretty much as dark as they come, and there is no happy ending--not even a tiny hint of one. I heard Florence + the Machine’s Girl With One Eye, and all of a sudden knew that I had found Bellatrix's theme song. Fic soon followed. In this case, fic that was designed to answer the question: What would it take to make someone as crazy as Bellatrix eventually became?

Narcissa was fifteen when her mother called her into the drawing room for a private chat—so private even the elves were warned away. To say she was apprehensive was an understatement. Druella Black, neé Rosier, was not a witch to trifle with, and private chats were usually a polite cover for a thorough dressing down at best, and a stiff serving of cruelty more often than not.

Narcissa sat carefully, her posture perfect and hands clasped in her lap, frantically searching her memory for any recent infraction. She could think of none, but she knew better than to believe that would forestall any punishment her mother saw fit to mete out. When Druella turned icy eyes on her daughter, Narcissa held her breath.

But what came next was wholly unexpected. “Narcissa, what I am about to say to you goes no further than this room and the two of us, understood?” Druella asked gravely. Narcissa nodded quickly. “Good. To be quite frank, this is about your sisters.”

At that, Narcissa’s eyebrows drew up. “Mother?” she half-asked, unsure even of what question she sought to voice.

Druella sighed. “Narcissa, as much as you should be proud of the purity of your blood, and of being a Black, I cannot impress upon you enough how important it is to also be wary.” Narcissa felt dread bloom in her gut at her mother’s tone. “Your father is a great credit to his line, but there have been . . . others, Blacks for whom purity did not bring prestige, but madness.”

The fear now cold and heavy in her stomach, Narcissa understood at last what her mother was trying to say. “You believe that Bella and Andy are at risk?” she inquired, baffled. At her mother’s disapproving glare, she hastily amended her error. “Bellatrix and Andromeda, that is.”

There was another moment of silent disapproval before Druella spoke again. “Yes. It is obvious from their colouring—and, by extension, yours—that your sisters have inherited the greater share of the Black legacy.” Druella lowered her eyes carefully, considering her next words. “However, it is not Andromeda that concerns me most, though I will, of course, keep close watch over her. No, I fear it’s Bellatrix who shall be revealed as the truest fruit of the Black line.”

Narcissa swallowed dryly as her mother’s eyes once again met her own, the gravity in them telling. After swallowing again, trying to make her throat work, she gave voice to the most pressing question. “Mother, what should I do?”

Druella reached out, and clasped her youngest daughter’s hand. “You must never provoke Bellatrix, Narcissa. Never. This may be the most difficult task you have ever been set, but you must carry it out, for the consequences of failure—though unforeseeable—will be greater than either you or this family can afford.”

Narcissa clasped her mother’s hand and promised.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Bellatrix had been on her way back to her chambers when they caught her eye. So pretty, so shiny-new, wrapped in each other’s arms and shivering. It stopped her in her tracks.

(The first time it had happened, the first time the sight of two people had stopped her cold, she remembered as if it was yesterday. Narcissa—dear, sweet, baby Cissa—had been pressed against a wall by the Malfoy boy, kissing and kissing and kissing . . .)

And just like the first time, once stopped, Bellatrix had to watch. Had to see whether they would whisper, or let their bodies talk for them. Like the first time, their bodies did the talking. Unlike then, these two were innocent in their touches. And like the first time, Bellatrix had to have.

She didn’t stop to ask the Dark Lord’s permission. The thought that she should consult with her husband was laughable, and never crossed her mind. She simply saw, wanted, and decided to take. The guard didn’t question or balk at her request. (It was useful, sometimes, to be thought mad.) Bellatrix crouched down, eyeing the identical beauties. One quailed under her gaze; the other held fast to her twin and her defiance. (Not so identical after all, then.) She knew which she wanted.

Bellatrix nodded to the guard and announced, “I’ll take that one,” as she pointed to the girl who was trembling.

As he moved to separate them, the trembling girl began to cry, and clutched even more frantically at her twin. Bellatrix fought to keep the smirk off her face. And then, as the snivelling girl was hauled upright, the defiant one spoke. “Take me instead.”

Bellatrix looked at her, one brow arched high. “You’re a pretty whelp, but that alone does not grant you the right to speak to me.”

The girl’s chin lifted even further. “Still. You want a girl? Take me. Pad—she’s no good to you. Too delicate. I’m the one you want,” she declared firmly. Bellatrix liked her. Nodding, she threw the other one back. But as the first girl was returned to her cell—screeching like a harpy at her sister—the mouthy one spoke again. “I want your word that no one touches her.”

Again with the demands. If she kept this up, Bellatrix might really have to keep her. “And what, precisely, makes you think that I would honour such a promise?” she growled, thoroughly amused.

The pretty girl snorted. “Precious little. But even if you’re a mad Dark witch, you’re also a pureblood, and promises made on wands usually matter to your kind,” she replied bluntly.

That surprised a laugh out of Bellatrix. “Very well, then.” She turned to the guard. “Bring that other one back out here for a moment, and keep a firm grip on her,” she ordered. When the whinging thing was in front of her, Bellatrix pulled her robe down to bare a shoulder. When the girl tried to cover back up, Bellatrix slapped her. Hard. The demanding one stayed silent, though her jaw was clenched. Bellatrix laid her wand against the pretty skin and branded it. The girl was nearly in hysterics, silly bint, but she went back to her cage easily enough.

“No one will touch her now,” Bellatrix stated, her voice smooth. Her eyes were trained on her girl’s face, however, and saw how the nod was resigned and relieved in equal measure. “You realize that you’ll pay for this?”

Those big dark eyes showed nothing but acceptance. “Of course. I expected nothing less.”

“Then why provoke me, when your fate is entirely in my hands?” Bellatrix asked as she bared this one’s shoulder with considerably fewer theatrics.

The beautiful girl took Bellatrix’s brand with a hiss and clenched teeth, waiting until after the mark was burned into her flesh to answer. “My fate was in your hands the second you laid eyes on both of us. The only difference is I figure I deserve something in exchange for taking her place.”

Bellatrix grasped the girl’s jaw, tipping her face to look into those dark eyes. “I’m going to enjoy you,” she murmured darkly. There was something _special_ about sisters.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

When Narcissa asked her to act as chaperone for a visit between her and her betrothed, Bellatrix agreed. Cissa knew Bella would do anything she asked, just as Bella knew her status as chaperone was a farce.

But whatever Bellatrix had expected, it certainly wasn’t this. The Malfoy prince spun out of her Floo first, unfolding himself from the hearth with expected elegance, and eyed her in wholly unexpected appraisal. He sat himself in Dolph’s customary chair and continued to stare at Bellatrix in unabashed prurience. Cissa tumbled from the Floo a few minutes later, just when Bellatrix was about to take Malfoy to task for his impudence. To add further to the strangeness of the situation, Narcissa took one look at Bellatrix and turned away, blushing, refusing to meet her sister’s eye.

“Lucius, I’ve changed my mind,” she whispered, cheeks red and eyes on the floor.

“Narcissa, we’ve discussed this, and established that it was the closest thing to an . . . agreeable compromise,” Malfoy drawled irritably.

Bellatrix crossed the room to where her sister was standing. She had never seen Narcissa so awkwardly distraught, and took the fair woman into her arms, trying to shield her. From what, Bellatrix was unsure, but Cissa wasn’t like her and Andy. She had always been Mother’s good girl, without that defiant spark to guard her from others’ machinations. But no matter.

“It’s a hard-hearted ass who would deliberately distress his betrothed. Tell me at once what’s crawling about the depths of your twisted brainpan, or I shall take this to Mother and allow her to sort you out,” Bellatrix told Malfoy coldly, as her fingertips stroked over Narcissa’s shoulder.

But the pureblood boy laughed. “A nasty threat, certainly, that you will go crying to mother,” he snickered.

Hearing her betrothed, Narcissa composed herself. Drawing back from Bellatrix—but keeping her hand on her sister’s waist—she stood tall, and spoke steadily. “Lucius, my darling, it is unwise to provoke Bella. Both for the proposal you wish to set forth, and because she won’t hesitate to turn you over to our parents if she believes you’re treating me poorly.” Narcissa smiled then, a smile that held an edge of something sweetly vicious. “I know that you respect your father and his form of discipline. Bear in mind, then, that Druella Black will show you even less mercy.” At that, Malfoy paled, and Bellatrix swelled with pride. Mother’s little golden girl was a little less sweet than she had been, once, was a little more willing to exert her influence to gain what she wanted.

He inclined his head. “Duly noted. Perhaps you and your sister should sit, while I explain our . . . predicament.” Bellatrix wondered if he grasped the sheer presumption in asking her to be seated in her own home.

When it had all been made clear to her, Bellatrix was equal parts intrigued and outraged, with no clue which would ultimately win out. The image from a year ago, when she stumbled upon them without their knowledge, rose up in her mind, and she knew what she wanted. She would have to tread delicately, here. But just as it seemed that Bellatrix had landed on the side of intrigue, Malfoy smirked at her, expecting acquiescence, and she found that outrage won.

"And what, Merlin help us all, made you believe I would agree to such a thing? What made you believe my husband won’t demand your flesh in payment for violating his wife?" she asked, voice frigid and her spine tingling with fury.

He laughed. "Your reputation is clouded at best, Lestrange, and everyone is well-aware of Rudolphus's indiscretions with—"

"—my husband's activities are no one's business but mine, Malfoy," Bellatrix interrupted, her voice very, very low. "Furthermore, I thought you had already understood your own hubris, but I was mistaken. As are you, if you believe I would bed you after being deemed the whore for your game of Muggle-in-the-middle, nothing but a convenient slag. You forget yourself, Malfoy, and you forget that I’m a Black witch. You will leave, before I have the house-elves dump you in the street." The dismissal clear, Bellatrix rose from her seat and gestured towards to Floo. She was so cold in her anger she felt frost coating her lungs and heart, could feel it creeping into her stomach.

Malfoy's face twisted into an ugly expression—a thing that amused Bellatrix to no end, for manners that foul really were unfitting of such physical beauty—and he swept towards the fireplace. He paused when he realized that his betrothed wasn’t by his side. Turning, he saw her lay her hand on Bellatrix's arm, and caught his breath.

"Bella, please." The plea was quiet, but no less importuning for that.

"Yes, Bella, please do thaw somewhat," Malfoy added, his voice positively dripping with scorn.

This time, it was Narcissa who spoke. "Lucius, a little graciousness would not be out of place. If you are going to come begging favours, it would behoove you to leave your derision at the door. And if you _ever_ address my sister so without leave, hers is not the only bed you will have to beg entrance to." It was said casually, almost pleasantly, but Bellatrix had no doubt that Narcissa meant it, and hid a smile.

Threat delivered, Narcissa turned back to her sister, her eyes large and shining, asking, but not begging. Bellatrix thought for a moment before she answered the question with some of her own. "Do you ask for his sake, or your own? Because you trust me to do this for you? Because you are curious about the feel of another woman's body?"

Narcissa swallowed once, but her gaze didn't waver and her voice didn't tremble when she replied. "Yes."

Bellatrix arched a brow. "Yes? To what?"

"All of them." The answer was soft, but her conviction was not. It was enough. Bellatrix nodded.

"Excellent," Malfoy announced, extremely pleased. He extended a hand towards Bellatrix, asked "Shall we?"

To his infinite annoyance, both witches ignored him. Instead, Bella offered a hand, an invitation in her expression. Cissa took it without hesitation and allowed Bella to lead her from the room. Malfoy was forced to follow or be left behind.

To an outside observer, it might have seemed as if the young man lounging on the bed were in command. _He_ certainly thought so. The two women before him knew better. Likewise, an observer would believe Bellatrix was merely trying to coax a reluctant virgin to bed with soft kisses and a delicate touch.

Instead, she was warning Cissa.

"Don't be afraid," she whispered, her fingers starting to unfasten her sister’s gown.

"You can’t think I'll believe there’s nothing to fear." The reply was breathy and trembling, but Narcissa's fingers were steady as she worked the clasps of Bella's robes. Bellatrix caught Narcissa's eyes, saw the terror in their depths. She stroked the pale face.

"You have nothing to fear from me, Cissa. Never from me," Bella insisted, laying kisses on her sister's cheek. Narcissa heard the words and could not doubt them—not when Bella promised in that voice. She gave a smile, the first one of the evening, and Bellatrix caught her mouth in a kiss. Pressing in close to reach the back of Narcissa's gown, Bellatrix pressed her face to golden hair and lowered her voice even further. "Watch him, Cissa. Watch whether he uses me kindly or ill, because that’s the man who will occupy your bed."

Narcissa pulled back, her eyes widening in horror and disbelief at the implication. "Bella . . ." she choked, unable to force the rest of her words out.

Bellatrix shook her head, a small movement, and cupped her sister's face. "I knew what I was agreeing to, Cissa. But whatever mother told you, pureblood wizards don’t often bring pretences of civility to their bedrooms." Her eyes were large and dark, and utterly serious. But they were not afraid.

Narcissa shook her head again, wanting to disbelieve. She had no words. Bellatrix caught her mouth in another gentle kiss. It was soft, a mere brush of lips, and—despite the fact that she'd shared kisses much less chaste with Lucius—took her entirely off-guard. She couldn't have said why. And as the kiss continued, it ceased to matter—what did was the way Bella's mouth moved softly over hers, coaxing her to participate, to use her tongue, to enjoy the way the simple, sensual pleasure of it poured over her.

She was so lost in it that it startled her to feel Lucius's hands. Narcissa pulled away, and saw that he had fitted himself against Bellatrix's back. While they'd been whispering and undressing and kissing, he had stripped himself of robes, trousers and shirt, leaving him only in his pants. His hands seemed obscenely large at her sister's waist, finishing what Narcissa had started. As Lucius slipped Bellatrix free of her remaining garments, his gaze never left Narcissa—although his bride-to-be found herself entranced by her sister.

Narcissa had always noticed the ways in which they were similar: the way their hair waved, despite the difference in colour, the way they had the same jawline and nose and cheekbones, how close they were in height—though Bella was just a touch taller. But now, Narcissa could see the differences between them, and it fascinated her because she had never seen them before. Her fingers traced delicately across Bella's side, and she understood, now, why others had always thought her the fragile-looking one—Bella's ribs and hips were wider, her breasts and thighs heavier. Her skin was a little darker, too, though just as silky as Narcissa's own.

Cissa bit her bottom lip, suddenly feeling shy, inadequate next to her sister. She plucked at the thin chemise she'd worn under her gown, and wondered if she could do this. She took a deep breath to steel herself, and looked up into the faces of her sister and betrothed. Lucius's face was hungry, but Bellatrix's was wry—when she caught Narcissa looking, she mouthed, "four years" and quirked a single dark brow.

Narcissa flushed and nodded her understanding. Bella was reminding her that she was older, that Cissa was not yet twenty and would grow more womanly with time. Lucius was smirking at her blush, mistaking its cause, even as he mouthed at Bellatrix's neck.

It was as Bellatrix was pulling the last scrap of lace from Narcissa's pale body that Malfoy asked, "What spells do you want me to use?"

"That's not necessary," Bellatrix replied quietly. Malfoy took it to mean that she had already dealt with such practicalities, and returned his lips to her neck. Only Narcissa saw the way that Bella's head turned and her eyes fell to the floor.

"Bella?" she asked, her voice a broken, fearful thing as she desperately hoped she was wrong. Bellatrix looked at her, eyes immeasurably sad, and shook her head ever so slightly. Narcissa's eyes closed, and she felt a deep pain for her sister as she laid a soft hand over Bella's belly. Before Narcissa had had time to come to grips with her grief, she felt Lucius's hand move over hers, guiding it down to her sister's sex. Narcissa felt her cheeks flush, but she refused to give in to her nervousness. She moved lower, but was stopped by Bellatrix herself.

"No; Narcissa first." Her voice was low, but brooked no argument. Malfoy pulled back, looked between the two witches, and acquiesced.

"How . . .?" Narcissa was unsure how to ask what she most wanted to know.

Luckily, Bella understood. "Just lay on the bed, Cissa, on your back. I'll do the rest," she said gently, bussing a kiss across Cissa's cheek.

But before she got there, Narcissa was caught up in Lucius's arms, bare skin pressed to bare skin as he kissed her greedily. She returned it, but felt something stir in her belly that was most certainly _not_ desire. Something was different, here, but there was no time for her to figure it out. Instead, she gentled the kiss and stepped back, giving her betrothed a smile before sliding onto the bed. She felt much too exposed lying on her back, so she lay on her side, and watched Bella and Lucius.

He had Bellatrix pressed up against the bedpost, not so much kissing as attacking her. One of his hands was fisted in her dark locks, while the other pumped in and out of her as he bit and sucked at her mouth. Bellatrix, for her part, had wrapped one leg around Malfoy's hip, and her hands gripped his sides so fiercely that she left little red crescents when they separated, panting. "Cissa first," Bellatrix repeated, glaring. Malfoy extended his arm to the blonde woman on the bed, a gesture that was inherently sarcastic. Neither woman paid him any mind.

Bella nestled in close to Cissa, brought up a hand to cup her face, and kissed her. Not the way that Lucius had kissed her, or the way that he had kissed Bellatrix. This was gentle, but insistent. This built slowly, until Narcissa was wrapping every spare limb around Bella, trying to get her closer. That was when Bella rolled Cissa under her, breaking the kiss to mouth and bite at neck and shoulder, collarbone and breast. Narcissa hadn't known that such a thing could feel so heavenly. She moaned.

Bella traced her fingers over pale flesh, exploring. When Narcissa's breaths were coming in little pants, and Bellatrix's mouth was bruised sore, she finally slid down the bed. She parted Cissa's legs, laid kisses on the inside of the thighs, and then slid two fingers into liquid heat. Cissa whined softly, twitching, unsure of _what_ she wanted but knowing that she did _want_. Bella leaned down, lapped softly at slick flesh, and promptly decided that she would never forget that taste: tangy and more than a little perfect.

She tongued Cissa more firmly as she worked her fingers deeper, bringing her sister closer to completion. One of Narcissa's restless arms finally caught Bella's free hand, and she held on tight, squeezing as she rode her way through orgasm. She was stroking the side of Bella's face fondly when the peace of the moment was shattered.

"And will your mother's spells still read Narcissa as a virgin?" Malfoy drawled obnoxiously.

Bellatrix turned to glare at him, petting Cissa's thigh. "Yes," she replied sharply.

"How can you be sure?" he pressed, leaning forward.

"Because I was subjected to those same spells, and I know how they determine virginity or lack thereof," Bella snapped, her voice clipped and angry. "No man has entered her, and she remains intact to bleed across the marital sheets, since you seem determined to know the particulars." The languid air had completely disappeared now, replaced with indignation and distaste at Malfoy's crass questioning.

"In that case, I believe it’s my turn," Malfoy announced haughtily. Bellatrix would have made a cutting retort, but Cissa's hand on her cheek had her holding her tongue. Instead, she allowed Malfoy to arrange her as he liked. When he'd declared himself satisfied, Bellatrix hovered on hands and knees over Narcissa, who still lay on her back, while Malfoy positioned himself behind her.

Narcissa saw the look on her betrothed's face, a look she couldn't have described for the life of her, and felt a quiver of fear for Bella. Bella saw it and gave a small, tight-lipped smile, a reminder that she had agreed to this.

But Narcissa saw the way Bella's eyes closed when Lucius forced his way inside her body, and heard the stuttered breath that was meant to hide pain. She felt the way Bella's body jerked as Lucius used her and held Bella's waist, and tried to hold her sister steady so Bella didn't collapse on top of her. She saw the way Lucius's fingertips dug into the thin skin of Bella's hips, his grip white-knuckled and almost sure to raise bruises.

She wasn't prepared when Lucius placed one hand between Bella's shoulders and pushed her down, but Cissa caught her anyway. She guided Bella's head to her shoulder and wrapped her arms around her sister's neck. Cissa heard Bella's sharp pants, and knew they weren't wholly passionate. Bella was still on her elbows, trying to keep from crushing Cissa under her, her breath hot against Cissa's skin.

"Bite," Narcissa whispered suddenly.

"I'll hurt you," Bella protested hoarsely.

"He's hurting you," Cissa retorted.

"Not much," Bella muttered stubbornly.

"You're doing this for me, let me do this for you. _Bite_ ," Cissa insisted. A moment later, she felt Bella’s teeth against the flesh of her shoulder, felt her skin give under her sister's teeth as Lucius's thrusts grew more violent just before he stilled. She felt the soft kiss laid over the broken skin as Lucius withdrew and dropped beside the sisters on the bed.

Narcissa guided Bellatrix over onto her side and brushed dark curls away from her flushed face. "Did you . . .?" she asked clumsily. Bella shook her head. "How should I . . . ?"

"The way you would touch yourself," Bella replied, giving a tired but encouraging smile. Cissa nodded, hitched one of Bella's legs over her hip, and carefully slid her second finger inside. Bella hissed, but moved into it rather than against, so Cissa continued. She pressed the knuckle of her first finger against Bella's clit, and moved her hand in a gentle rhythm.

"Alright?" Cissa asked in a whisper, feeling foolish.

"It's good," Bella answered, her breath coming in short little gasps that made an almost-whine with every exhale.

So Cissa continued, keeping her rhythm steady even as Bella’s breath grew shorter and her hips undulated against Cissa’s hand, stopping only after Bella’s body grew quiet. They lay together after, and Cissa could feel tiny tremors skating up and down the muscles of Bella’s leg where it pressed against her. But when she pulled her finger free from Bella's body, Cissa was horrified to find it streaked with blood. "Bella! Are you alright?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice low, lest she wake Lucius.

Bellatrix looked at Narcissa's hand, and then shrugged one shoulder. "I tore. It happens, sometimes. A good Healing Spell and I'll be fine," she replied dismissively. "What about your shoulder?" she asked, looking and sounding a great deal more concerned.

"A good Healing Spell and I'll be fine," she replied with a smile and no small amount of bite. Bella shook her head, holding back laughter.

Narcissa searched through the clothing on the floor until she found her wand. She magicked away the mess on her hand, and their hurts. Then she and Bella pulled back the bedclothes on the side they'd been on, and slid beneath them. When Cissa fell asleep, it was as she often had when she was a girl, with Bella at her back and her sister's arm around her waist.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Bellatrix’s grip on her new toy was firm as she hauled the feisty runt along to her quarters. There was an admirable lack of hysterics or tiresome escape attempts. Bellatrix wondered how long she’d get with this one, and found herself hoping it was longer than her previous playthings.

Arriving at her quarters in the draughty old manor, Bellatrix released her hold on the girl. Once the doors were closed, the wards engaged, and none could leave without her say. And the brand on the pretty thing’s shoulder was handy for any number of things—keeping her inside the wards was only one.

“Come, girl. It’s time to play,” Bellatrix said softly, anticipation coming to life within her.

“I have a name, you know,” the little doll replied. If she kept this up, Bellatrix really _was_ going to have to keep her.

“Not anymore, you don’t,” Bellatrix retorted, simply for the pleasure of seeing her react.

“It’s my _name_! It doesn’t cease to exist because you say so,” the nameless girl replied, her voice ringing with conviction. That sealed it, it really did. Bellatrix was keeping her.

But that didn’t mean the insolent Muggle-spawn could speak to her that way. “Listen to me, now,” Bellatrix murmured, her voice low and dangerous as she advanced on the uncomprehending slave, “your fate rests in my hands. Whether you eat, hurt, speak, think, even _breathe_ is entirely at my discretion. I will call you Girl, and you will answer to it. I don’t want to kill you—which means that if you displease me, you will suffer for it. Am I clear, Girl?”

“Unfortunately so,” Girl replied, her grip on herself as tight as the tension that lined her face and body.

Bellatrix stroked a finger down one soft, dark cheek. “You will address me as _ma’am_. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bellatrix smiled, and her eyes glittered frighteningly, full of pain and joy at that pain. “Good. Then it’s time for us to get better acquainted.”

Girl fought back a shiver, the innocuous words belied by Bellatrix’s expression. She flinched when Bellatrix raised her wand, closing her eyes and bracing for a curse. When all she felt was cold, she opened her eyes—and realized that her new owner had just spelled her clothes off. Now, Parvati had lived in a dorm with the other Gryffindor girls for years, and had shared a room with her twin sister long before that. She wasn’t a prude. But the way Bellatrix’s eyes skated leisurely up and down her body, over every curve and angle, every individual inch of dusky skin, made her want to hide. Girl averted her face, her head bowed and eyes on the floor, letting a curtain of shining hair hide her face and breasts from view. Her hands clenched convulsively at her side as she heard Bellatrix approach.

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no,” Bellatrix sing-songed pleasantly. She brushed away the thick fall of black hair from Girl’s chest, pushing it back over her shoulder. Then, her fingers trailing between Girl’s breasts, she murmured, “If I want to look, I will. If I wish to touch, I shall. And you, my pretty pet, you’re going to let me.” Her tone was almost maternal. “Because you can't stop me from taking what I want from you. The only thing you can do is fight me, and lose, and be punished for fighting in the first place.” Bellatrix gripped Girl’s jaw firmly, and pulled until Girl was facing her. “Do you understand me?” she asked, almost gently.

Girl nodded, terrified beyond words of Bellatrix’s reasonableness. All Parvati had ever heard about this witch told her that Bellatrix was madder than a March hare, unpredictable and vicious. A monster.

“Good,” Bellatrix smiled, winding her fist into Girl’s shining hair. “I ought to chop it off, you realize. There are so many reasons I should,” she said conversationally, her grip tightening painfully. Girl grit her teeth. “But I suppose I can be kind this once and let you keep it. I can always hack it off later.” Bellatrix sighed and loosed her hold. “You’re terribly lucky that I’m a vain woman—I’ve always had an appreciation for beautiful things,” she announced wistfully, her mind clearly elsewhere.

Parvati stared, wondering if there was any possible way to get out of this situation alive. She rather thought there wasn’t, and then tried to decide if she was grateful for that or not. Would she be able to look Padma in the eye after this? Would she escape with enough of her mind and body intact to live something like a normal life again? And if she couldn’t, did she want to live at all?

Long before Parvati had arrived at anything like an answer, Bellatrix twined an arm around her waist and led her to a lavish bath. “Stand against that wall, there, with your hands against it and feet apart,” she ordered. Girl moved to obey. As threatening as it was to have Bellatrix at her back, at least she no longer had to look her captor in the eye. That was the last thought before she was blasted with water from all sides, sometimes so hot she was nearly scalded, and other times so cold she wanted to shriek. When it stopped she was exhausted, as if she’d been beaten rather than hosed.

“Away from the wall,” Bellatrix barked. Girl complied, wrapping her arms around herself as her teeth started to chatter. Bellatrix flicked her wand imperiously, and Girl was dry—though still thoroughly frozen. “Arms out, away from your body,” Bellatrix snapped. Parvati did as commanded, though reluctantly. She stood there, goose-pimpled and bare, as Bellatrix came forward and began to circle her. Parvati didn’t know what to expect—curses, hexes, blows, perhaps—but she certainly didn’t anticipate Bellatrix’s hands running all over body. Parvati couldn’t hold back her twitches and jerks when Bellatrix touched her arse, breasts, throat. She froze when those questing hands ran down to her mound, though when Bellatrix slipped a finger inside her, she gasped and started away.

Bellatrix caught her, however. With an arm around her slim waist and pulled flush against Bellatrix’s chest, Girl suddenly felt very, very small. Bellatrix was a tall woman, and the arm that held her was stronger than it looked. Girl wasn’t masochistic enough to swat at Bellatrix’s hand, so she didn’t. She did, however, clench her thighs together.

Never, even in her darkest nightmares, did Parvati ever imagine that her first time would be like this.

“Now, now, lovely,” Bellatrix whispered into her hair. “It’s not going to hurt. Open up,” she coaxed.

Parvati knew she was mad to trust Bellatrix in anything, but knew it—whatever ‘it’ actually happened to be—would be worse the harder she fought. So with her eyes squeezed shut and her heart tearing apart in her chest, she relaxed her thighs. Bellatrix slipped her hand back between them, and stroked over Girl but didn’t push her way in again.

“That’s it. That’s my good Girl,” Bellatrix cooed lovingly. Parvati felt sick. “Come on, then love. Into bed with you—this is the time, but the loo is certainly not the place,” Bellatrix laughed, a grating sound.

She let Bellatrix lead her by the hand into the bedroom, and lay on the bed when told. But she curled onto her side instead of lying spread-eagle on her back, the way Bellatrix wanted her to. Bellatrix struck her, then, and the crack of it landing rung in the otherwise-silent room. A red mark the shape of Bellatrix’s hand coloured Girl’s flank almost instantly, and Parvati knew it would be tender for days.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” Bellatrix warned.

Girl tried to swallow, couldn’t, and lay down as she’d been told. Bellatrix hummed contentedly, pulling out her wand again. Parvati watched warily, but Bellatrix still didn’t curse her. Instead, she bound Girl’s wrists to the bedposts. It left her nowhere to run, no way to hide when Bellatrix loomed over her. Her heart started to race.

Bellatrix slid Girl’s thighs apart, raising a brow when she met opposition. Girl stopped resisting—her thigh was still smarting, and she didn’t need the other one to match. Bellatrix shucked her robes and gown, leaving her in just a corset, knickers, and stockings. She undressed quickly, matter-of-factly, completely unselfconscious. Girl supposed she had no reason to be—despite the unnatural leanness Azkaban had left her with, Bellatrix remained an imposingly beautiful woman.

If it weren’t for the fact that she was nearly the antithesis of Bellatrix—young and petite, Muggleborn and copper-skinned—Girl might’ve felt embarrassed by the comparison. As it was, she only felt apprehension when Bellatrix moved between her spread legs. She bit her lip to keep silent when Bellatrix bent over her, and promptly let it go to cry softly when she was slapped again—this time on her inner thigh.

“Your words and sounds are _mine_ , Girl, just as much as your body is,” Bellatrix told her sternly. “Understand?” Girl nodded. “I can’t hear you,” Bellatrix growled.

“Uh-understood, ma’am,” Girl stuttered out obediently. Her insides felt cold and heavy, and Girl wondered distantly if she was going to be sick.

“Good Girl,” Bellatrix said, a disturbing smile on her face.

And then Bellatrix bent her head, using her tongue and lips and fingers expertly, leaving Girl no choice but to climax under her. Tears leaked from Parvati’s eyes, her heart clenching painfully even as pleasure washed through every limb. She wished, desperately, that things were different. That her first time had been of her choosing. That Bellatrix hadn’t made her come. That she and Padma had never been captured.

“Shhh, shhh, it is what it is, pet,” Bellatrix murmured, licking Girl’s tears. Perversely, those words made her feel better, and Parvati hated herself for it. Bellatrix released her bindings, then, and gathered her close so that Girl was straddling her lap. Parvati moved woodenly, unable to resist. Pushing two fingers inside Girl, Bellatrix twisted and searched until she found a place that made her gasp, her hips pushing into Bellatrix’s hand of their own accord. Attacking that place mercilessly, Bellatrix pushed Girl’s body to a second and greater finish, one that began as a trembling in her legs and ended with Girl’s entire body shaking like a leaf on the wind and clutching at Bellatrix, who had her teeth fastened tight at the place where neck met shoulder.

As she rode out her second unwelcome orgasm, Girl felt Bellatrix’s teeth break her open and cried out. When Bellatrix pulled back, licking blood from her mouth, Girl looked at her through tear-blurred eyes and asked, “Why? You promised it wouldn’t hurt,” in a voice that was as brittle as old glass.

“Silly Girl. I said _this_ ,” and Bellatrix flexed her fingers, still inside Girl’s body, “wouldn’t hurt. I never said _I_ wouldn’t hurt you,” she purred, a smirk on her blood-smeared lips.

Parvati closed her eyes, feeling achy all over. Blood still trickled from her shoulder. Bellatrix had her, no one knew yet that she and Padma were missing, and she didn’t know what to do. Nothing in her life—not her parents’ rules or Hogwarts’ lessons or Harry’s training—had prepared her for this. Everything from before had taught her to win, or go down fighting. She had no guide for how to live conquered.

As she lay in bed that night, pressed up against Bellatrix, she felt heavy and oddly hollow. She didn’t cry. She didn’t think there was enough of her soul left for tears. She didn’t know what she would need to do in the morning to survive, but she knew, now, that she wanted to live despite what had become of her. She knew, too, that the person she had been before couldn’t help her.

So Girl swept up the broken pieces of who she had been, and locked them away. And then she slept. Morning would come soon enough, and she would need all the strength she could find to face it alone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Bella thought about Andy, sometimes. She wasn’t supposed to, Merlin knew, but she couldn’t help it. Andy was her sister—or had been, until she’d split her cauldron and run off with a Muggle. She’d been disowned, disinherited, blasted off the family tree. Legally erased.

But there was no Memory Charm powerful enough to erase the memory of running about as children chasing house-elves, or Andy sneaking into Bella’s room after a nightmare, or when the three of them—Andy and Bella and Cissa—would all hide together in the attic, laughing and playing games and sharing secrets until they were found and dragged back downstairs to their lessons.

Bellatrix looked out her window at the sheeting rain and cursed, loudly and at great length, though with little heat. If her mother weren’t monitoring her so closely—hoping to avoid another “Andromeda incident”, surely—Bella would risk sending an owl. She wondered what she would say, tried to compose the message she might have sent, were Druella not screening all her post under the guise of “chaperoning” Bellatrix and her most persistent suitor.

_Dear Andy,_

_I need your help. How did you get away? You could have told me, you know. Now **I** need to escape, and I haven’t a blighted clue how . . ._

 

_Dear Andy,_

_You ran away to elope, and now I need you to break me free before I’m forced to marry Dolph Lestrange . . ._

 

_Dear Andy,_

_Did you go completely barking? Whatever possessed you to run off with a Muggle? Without a word to **me** , even?_

 

_Dear Andy,_

_I miss you. Are you happy, wherever you are?_

 

Bella wished she could send an owl, wished she could use the blinking _loo_ without being supervised by her mother’s house-elf. She wished she had the smallest speck of freedom, even if all she did with it was talk to Andy. Wished that Andy was still here to talk to, to help her out of this mess.

Staring sightlessly into the torrential downpour, Bella sighed. She wondered where Andy was right now, wondered if _she_ was staring at the same bucket-dumping storm. With a bitter laugh, Bella tried to resign herself to not knowing, and went to find Cissa.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Bellatrix petted Girl’s hair with her free hand when she shifted impatiently. Bellatrix was getting impatient herself, but that had more to do with her fellow Death Eaters than the Dark Lord’s speeches. She played idly with the chain of Girl’s leash, the end of which was linked securely around Bellatrix’s wrist. Even now, all these years later, Bellatrix had to carefully avoid looking Malfoy in the eye, lest she murder him on the spot and damn the consequences.

Finally, the Dark Lord began delegating assignments—a sure sign that tonight’s gathering was drawing to a close. When the Dark Lord turned to her, he raised a questioning brow at Girl’s presence, but did not otherwise comment. Bellatrix was still his left hand, second only to Malfoy himself.

When the Dark Lord dismissed his followers, Bellatrix bowed with the others and then turned to leave, gripping Girl’s leash. Girl staggered to her feet, legs numb after kneeling so long on the unforgiving floor, but did not fight the tether. She had already learned that lesson, and instead followed behind Bellatrix as her ma’am led the way out.

“Quite a pretty thing you have there,” Rabastan remarked, matching strides with Bellatrix as they headed toward the Apparition point. “And that is an impressive piece. May I?” he asked, gesturing to the collar around Girl’s neck.

“Certainly,” Bellatrix replied, stopping. She had always liked Rab—had often secretly wished that he, and not his brother, had sought her hand.

Rabastan ran a careful thumb across the filigree, his hand hot and heavy on Girl’s bare shoulder. Bellatrix had painstakingly pinned up Girl’s hair herself that it couldn’t be used to hide the collar—a thing that only looked delicate. In truth, the conjured silver was impervious to all but Bellatrix’s magic. It was an unbreakable, irremovable, heartbreakingly beautiful symbol of Girl’s imprisonment.

“I had heard that you’d taken a pet, but I hadn’t heard about this,” Rab said, touching the collar one last time before pivoting away from Girl and back towards Bellatrix.

“The collar is a new addition, though one I am admittedly proud of,” Bellatrix confessed with a smile. They began walking again.

“As you should be,” Rabastan added quickly. “I do wonder, however, why you would grace a lowly poppet with such an exquisite piece of spellcraft.” Rabastan looked at her from the corner of his eye, watching her carefully.

Bellatrix laughed, understanding what was _really_ being asked here. “We all need hobbies, and one never knows when it might be useful to create such things,” she said coyly. Rab raised a brow, and she laughed again. “In truth, Girl here mistakenly believed that because I do not lock her inside a literal cage, she is free.” Rab’s eyes glittered as he nodded. “And while that misapprehension required correcting, I preferred a beautiful reminder of her place to an ugly one,” Bellatrix explained airily.

In actual truth, Bellatrix has been equal parts delighted, disappointed and angry to find Girl crouched outside her sister’s cell. Delighted, because it gave her the opportunity to punish Girl and show her how lucky she was to have Bellatrix as her owner—and disappointed in how utterly predictable her chosen infraction had been. Angry, for too many reasons to name.

“She was a lucky little thing,” Rab said, his tone pleasant. “Slaves who forget their place are worthless, and you would have been well within reason to slip her a smile.” His expression turned vicious and pleased. “She is very lucky.”

“Oh, she is. And now she knows it, too,” Bellatrix agreed, chuckling fondly.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The morning after their tryst-of-sorts, Bellatrix was jerked awake by strange fingers dragging up her back. She turned her head, confused for a moment, and then she saw Malfoy. He was wearing an unreadable expression as she stretched languidly and smiled.

“So, can I expect to ‘chaperone’ another visit between the two of you before the wedding?” she asked coyly. Want bubbled, hot and dangerous in her stomach, at the thought.

Malfoy’s expression turned hard. “No. You won’t come between Narcissa and myself again,” he announced coldly, his voice low.

Bellatrix arched a brow. “So once makes me convenient, but twice makes me a threat? Is that it?” she asked, her tone deceptively soft.

Malfoy laughed humorlessly. “You were a threat from the outset—the difference is that now I’m aware and will remedy it.” There was a perverse elation underlying the faux sympathy in his words.

Bellatrix sat up, dragging a sheet with her to cover herself. “And how, exactly, do you plan to ‘remedy’ sisterly affection?” she asked, contempt making her words crackle and hiss.

“Sisterly affection _requires_ no remedy,” Malfoy countered, his eyes glinting like ice, “and last night was full of anything _but_ familial love. Tell me, how long have you lusted after your own flesh and blood? How long have you wanted to touch and lick and taint sweet, innocent ‘Cissa’?” Malfoy pressed, hissing her sister’s nickname in a way that made Bellatrix’s stomach twist.

“How dare you colour me the villain after you came to _me_ , all but _begging_ me to do as you asked?” Bellatrix snapped defensively.

“Don’t think you can worm out way free of this or lay the blame at my feet!” Malfoy snarled, albeit quietly. “I saw the way you looked at her last night, the way you whispered in her ear and came at her touch. I _know_ what hides in the depths of your depraved heart, and I will not tolerate it,” he declared, his voice clanging like an iron portcullis falling shut.

“And what form will this intolerance take, my lord, if I may inquire?” Bellatrix asked mockingly, haughty and sure in her ability to subvert any measures Malfoy might take.

“I will make her forget _this_ , for a start,” Malfoy replied casually, “and the next logical step will be to make her fear you.”

“You honestly expect to achieve those ends?” Bellatrix asked incredulously. “She’s my _sister_. Surely you realize what a preposterous venture this is.”

“Not at all, when one uses magic,” Malfoy retorted, smirking triumphantly.

Bellatrix felt her heart sink. “You would use magic to tamper with your wife’s mind and memories, solely spite me? Are you mad?” she cried, her voice low and desperate. She almost hoped that Cissa awoke to hear this. If she did, she might call off the wedding.

Malfoy laughed—with real, sadistic humour this time. “Mad? Hardly. ‘Astute’ is more like,” he paused to pat Bellatrix’s cheek. “A wise man guards his property against all that would try to steal it,” he whispered airily.

“And if a thief were to be so bold as to try her luck regardless?” It was a reckless question, and Bellatrix knew it. She had more to gain by staying silent and appearing cowed—but she also needed to know what, precisely, her enemy was.

“Well, for now, I need her of course. So if you touch her—which I doubt, as you seem to prefer Narcissa willing—simply be aware that your sister will pay the consequences.” His smile was cruel. “Consequences for which you will be blamed, of course, as she will not be permitted to remember the event. And once she has given me an heir, I will simply kill her if you so much as _look_ at her again,” Malfoy finished, his voice poisonously sweet. He rose from the bed, leaving Bellatrix alone with the still-sleeping Narcissa.

In the few minutes Bella had left with a Cissa that remembered this and her and maybe even desired the same things she did, she held her sister close. She tried to burn every detail into her memory—the feel of Cissa’s body against hers, the exact curve of breast and hip and spine, the way Cissa had sounded last night when she came under Bella’s mouth. She mouthed silent words and promises and pleas against impossibly fair skin, felt her heart burn and tears well with the desperate wish to have something remain of this one night, and felt her lips tingle with magic when she pressed a kiss to the not-quite-healed bite against Cissa’s shoulder.

Because whatever one might say about Bellatrix Black-Lestrange, no had ever or _would_ ever say that she did not love her sister.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The first time Bellatrix brought Girl to orgasm without binding or bleeding her first, she tried to repay the favour. A mistake, as she was to discover.

Girl turned over onto her side, and bent her head to suckle at Bellatrix’s collarbones. When her ma’am only hummed contentedly, she took it as permission to continue. She kissed and sucked her way down absurdly soft skin, and paused when she reached the full hips. She had never used her mouth for . . . _that_ before. Anxious, she wormed her fingers between the Bellatrix’s folds and down until she slipped inside.

Bellatrix had been lying quiet, her eyes closed and her mouth still watering at the satisfaction of causing feminine climax, when she felt Girl press sucking kisses to her flesh. Bellatrix had hummed, surprised at Girl’s initiative, but enjoying the sensation.

But when Girl touched her _there_ , Bellatrix’s eyes snapped open. “Did I tell you to touch me?” she asked evenly, grasping Girl’s wrist and wrenching the invading hand from her body. The memory of other fingers, delicate but sure, came then, unbidden, and Bellatrix tightened her grip lest her fingers shake.

“N-no,” Girl stuttered, suddenly afraid.

“And what is the precise reason I suffer you to live?” Bellatrix asked, her tone falsely bright.

“Because . . . because it pleases you,” Girl replied, sensing a trap.

“And?” Bellatrix prompted.

“And . . . because I am yours to command.” The response was half-asked as Girl prayed she’d given the answer Bellatrix was looking for.

“Very good!” Bellatrix cooed condescendingly. “Only, I don’t recall giving you permission to touch me with your filthy fingers.” Her tone was positively brittle.

“I just thought—I mean, I wanted to give you—I thought you might want—ah!” Girl’s stammering was cut off when Bellatrix painfully wrenched the slender arm she still held in her grip.

“Stupid Mudblood,” she hissed. “I have a pureblood husband—someone _worthy—_ to satisfy my desires.”

“I just, I’ve never seen—”

Bellatrix laughed, a sound like bones breaking. “We’re not animals or Muggles, fornicating shamelessly with others looking on,” she sneered.

“But then, why bother with me at all?” Girl asked, baffled and in pain.

“You are an amusement, a distraction. A plaything,” Bellatrix replied cuttingly, “And you forget your place.” With that, she finally relinquished her grip on Girl’s arm—which was already starting to purple—and casually dumped her out of the bed. Girl just managed to catch herself before she dashed her brains out on the stone floor. She sprawled there, shivering, for a moment before picking herself up. She looked to the woman in the bed.

Bellatrix’s face was like stone. “You can sleep outside tonight.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Bellatrix had been reading in bed, trying to settle her mind before sleep. Instead, the old memoir was horribly fascinating. Thus, she wasn’t amused to feel her husband’s hand rucking up her nightdress. “No, Dolph,” she muttered softly, pushing his hand away and continuing to read.

Rudolphus slapped the journal away, and climbed atop her. Bellatrix froze, her tones clipped as she asked, “What, precisely, do think you’re doing?”

“I wan’ your fanny, you frigid harpy!” he snarled, tearing at the fabric that covered her. In a flash, he was frozen—breathing but shallowly—as her wand tip pressed against the vulnerable underside of his stubbly chin. “Bella?” he asked carefully.

Her response, when it came, was so unexpected—so filled with anguish and hate—that her syllables clacked and shredded like broken glass. “You wanted me, and—against all reason and all I’d hoped for from life—you got me. I wanted nothing from you but heirs; children I could love.” Then, her face emptied, and her voice turned cold. “If I am to be denied the only thing I desire, then you can suffer with me.”

“It’s not _my_ fault your inbred womb can’t—”

“No, it’s only your fault we’re married. You knew I never intended to wed, and you still pressed my parents until they agreed. And now, _now_ I’m your wife, and isn’t it a pity that the one thing you want you can’t have?” Her eyes glittered, dark and cold, as her lips twisted into a half-smile. “I’m your wife, and will remain so. I am a Black, and you cannot—you _will_ not—dispose of me like so much trash. You will treat me with nothing less than the utmost respect in front of others, especially the Dark Lord. If you wish to sire bastards, then that is your right—but know that I will never take you into my bed again. Ever.” Her voice hissed and crackled with malice and madness, and—buried deep—a certain kind of dark glee.

Dolph knew that glee, knew it had engendered atrocities. He had no desire to become one of them. So he nodded, slowly, and moved off her. He left her to warm her own sheets after that.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“I am mossst displeasssed, Luciusss. I grant you endlessss chancesss to redeem yourssself, and how do you repay my kindnessss? Withhh failure upon failure. Perhapsss you no longer wishhh to ssserve me?” the Dark Lord hissed menacingly.

“Never, my Lord,” Lucius replied fervently, down on his knees to plead for mercy. All assembled knew it was a fruitless endeavour.

“If it isss not disssloyalty, then what isss it, Luciusss?” The Dark Lord began to pace, affecting a thoughtful expression. “I mussst have been too laxxx withhh you. It isss time to find a more . . . persuasssive punishhhhment.” Here, he paused his pacing to turn the full force of his focus on the man at his feet.

There was a silence so pure that the only breaths heard were those of the Dark Lord.

“I believe I will give the lovely Narcissssa to my dear Bellatrixxx,” he finally announced.

Narcissa kept her head down as Lucius began to plead for her. She kept silent. It may have been her body that was being offered up to Bellatrix’s infamous tender mercies, but this wasn’t about her. It was about Lucius, and making him pay. Narcissa knew that, should the Dark Lord mull the matter over, he would quickly conclude that the only one more precious to Lucius than his wife was his son—and Narcissa would rather suffer torture and insanity and even death at her sister’s hands than place her son one step closer to the Dark Lord.

It was a treasonous thought, but it was true. She would not allow Draco to pay for his father’s sins any more than he had already. Not after she had bound a man she knew and trusted, cared for, with oaths and tears to keep Draco safe. Not when she was a perfectly willing sacrifice.

She raised her eyes then, to lock gazes with Bellatrix herself while Lucius and Dark lord continued their dance of loyalty and servitude. She couldn’t remember the last time she spoke with Bella—all Narcissa could say for certain was that it was some time before her sister succumbed to the madness her mother warned her of so very long ago. What she saw made her shudder.

Bellatrix was staring at her with naked want. Narcissa felt fear creep into her guts, felt its cold fingers walk up her spine at the thought. Truly, she had expected nothing less. But what she had not expected was grief, not madness, to glitter darkly in Bella’s eyes. It tugged at her heart, and she felt as if she were missing something, some vital piece of the puzzle that would make the tender quivering of her heart make sense.

Narcissa lowered her eyes, turned her face away from her sister and back towards Lucius. She nodded and whispered her thanks that she would be spared, this time, and left the Dark Lord’s presence with her husband’s arm around her waist and disquiet in her soul. She firmed her resolve to be grateful, and put the unease from her mind.

But late that night, as she prepared for bed, the foreboding returned. Plaiting her hair to reveal bare shoulders, Narcissa saw the scar that had adorned the left one as long as she’d been married. She had asked Lucius about it once, because try as she might, she couldn’t remember how it had gotten there. The mark was a delicate silver crescent, and had persisted despite all attempts to heal it. Lucius told her he had sunk his teeth in there, on their wedding night—an accidental injury incurred during his first time with his bride.

Narcissa had sensed at the time that he wasn’t telling her the truth, but had never pressed the matter—harbouring her suspicions instead. Looking at the bite now, Narcissa wondered why she couldn’t remember its creation. Wondered, too, why Lucius had bitten her once, and only once. Thought it suspect that the imprint of teeth was so small, when Lucius could not be described as a small man.

In the deepest, most private corner of her mind, Narcissa was convinced that Lucius was lying to her about the scar. She knew, also, that there were things she should remember, and couldn’t. She didn’t know _what_ it was she was meant to recall, only that there were gaps where the memories should be. She also knew, beyond any mortal doubt, that Lucius could not discover what she knew, could not be allowed to think for a moment that she harboured the smallest grain of doubt or suspicion.

And that meant that, for now, she could do nothing. Draco needed her, and that meant that all else would have to wait.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bellatrix stalked silently back to her quarters, fury and grief and outrage and sheer _want_ howling within her chest at every step. She clenched her teeth and set her face in a thunderous expression, containing the storm until she was behind the privacy of her wards. When she entered, Girl approached, asking if there was any service she might provide.

“Yes, there is,” Bellatrix hissed, striking out at her. Girl’s head snapped with the force of the blow, but she remained on her feet. Bellatrix struck her again.

And again and again, with palms and fists and elbows until Girl was on the floor and stayed there, because she was smart. When Bellatrix crouched down, Girl started to tremble, ever so slightly. “Please, ma’am, what have I done? What can I do?” she cried softly, real tears welling in her lovely dark eyes.

The sight of those tears caused Bellatrix’s rage to spill over. Why should Girl be allowed to blubber when the only touch she needed to fear was Bellatrix’s own? What gave _her_ the right to weep, when the one thing Bella wanted most in this world had just been dangled before her, only to be snatched away? How _dare_ Girl sob, when even the Dark Lord himself did not touch her out of respect for Bellatrix’s loyal service and countless pains? The absolute gall of those tears stung Bella when she had, in truth, been far kinder to Girl than anyone else would believe.

Bellatrix pulled a small knife from her boot and sat on Girl, pinning her. She mashed Girl’s skull against the floor, and carefully cut out her left eye. Task completed, Bellatrix rose and sauntered to her table, placing the eye on the polished wood surface. She turned it carefully, so the iris was facing towards her and then returned to Girl, who was crying softly.

“Why did you do that?” she asked desperately, clutching at her empty and ruined eye socket. Blood flowed between her fingers and dripped down her arm. Her remaining eye watered freely.

“Because it pleased me,” Bellatrix lied smoothly.

She left Girl exactly as she was—one-eyed and bleeding, hurt and confused—while she retreated to the complete privacy, the utter isolation of the bath.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

After having some time to compose herself in the bath, Bellatrix realized that she had been unnecessarily harsh with Girl. Any other plaything and she wouldn’t have cared, she knew. But Girl was different; hers. And Bella had decided some time ago to keep her, so she was going to make it up to Girl. She even planned on replacing the eye.

And that very announcement was about to roll off her tongue when she saw. Bellatrix reached out a hand to steady herself, stopped cold and utterly speechless.

Dolph. Dolph and Girl. She was wrapped around him, her arms clasped about his neck and her face buried in his shoulder. Dolph had an arm around her waist while his other hand tenderly stroked her hair. Then, Girl pulled back and pressed her lips to Dolph’s cheek. She paused for a moment, before she smiled and kissed him softly, the gesture speaking of the warmth born of familiarity. When the kiss broke, Girl’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling. She looked happy.

Bellatrix finally found her voice. “How dare you.” Outrage made her voice ring, cold as a January sky. She didn’t truly know who she was addressing—Dolph, or Girl. Maybe both.

They turned to look at her, Girl’s face going pale and Dolph’s growing grim. Girl touched her left eye—restored to her face—and began to tremble. It was Dolph who answered.

“Now, Bella—” he began, but Bellatrix cut him off.

“You had no right!” she cried, her heart raw.

“You told me you didn’t care if I sired bastards. Why should you care who I sire them on?” Dolph countered coldly.

“She’s _mine_ , Dolph, and you knew it,” Bellatrix ground out from behind clenched teeth.

“And you’re my wife. What’s yours is mine,” Dolph said casually, even as he looked at her—his so-called  _wife_ —with supreme disinterest.

Bellatrix couldn’t take it anymore. It was one insult, one pain, one injustice too many. She flung a curse at her husband which lashed his face open from temple to jaw, healing a moment later to form a red, ropy scar. While he was still clutching his face at the sudden pain, Bellatrix stalked over and matter-of-factly hoofed him in the groin.

As he lay on the floor howling, she spat on him. “I am not yours. I have never been yours. What is mine is most _emphatically_ not yours, and if the Dark Lord did not have need of you, I would end your worthless life this moment,” Bellatrix murmured emotionlessly. “Get out.”

Rudolphus wasted no time in doing so, not sparing a glance for either Girl or his wife.

Alone with Girl, Bellatrix’s face crumpled. As she cradled Girl’s face between her palms, her vision blurred. “How could you?” she asked, her voice broken and small as tears trembled on her lashes. Girl opened and closed her mouth wordlessly, stunned. Bella blinked, and tears spilled down her cheeks. “You were supposed to be mine,” she sobbed.

Girl stared at her. “You took out my eye,” she cried incredulously.

“”I was coming to put it back,” Bella confessed, unable to stop her weeping. “And then I saw you with _him_. How could you?” she asked again.

Girl tried to wipe away Bella’s tears. “He was kind to me,” she answered helplessly.

Bella choked on a hysterical laugh that was half-sob. “He was never being kind to you.”

As the truth dawned on Girl, pain filled her eyes. “He was using me,” she stated.

Bella nodded, beyond words. Then she pulled Girl to her and held her close, weeping on her shoulder. Girl tensed at first, afraid, but eventually brought her arms up to return the first true embrace her owner had ever given her.

When the tears slowed—but hadn’t stopped entirely—Bella pulled back and reached, embarrassed, for a handkerchief. After drying her face, she focussed again on Girl, her heart full and sore and writ plain on her face.

Bella reached out carefully and cupped Girl’s neck, her thumb brushing the delicate jaw. Bella leaned in slowly, almost hesitantly, and kissed Girl. It was soft and gentle and familiar, warmth and comfort, safety and home, until blood burst hot and sticky between them

Girl pulled away gasping, Bellatrix’s blade in her chest. Bella’s face was lined in regret as she jerked the handle up, slicing through skin and muscle and bone to send more blood spurting across them both. “I _wanted_ to keep you,” Bella murmured, pain colouring every word as she carefully lowered Girl to the floor. “You were supposed to be mine,” she whispered as she sliced through the other side of Girl’s ribs, tears spilling down her cheeks again

“Then why . . .?” Girl coughed out. Her face was screwed up in pain, but her eyes were wide and desperate. It was the last question she’d ever ask, and she needed to know the answer.

Tears dripped from Bella’s jaw and fell into Girl’s chest. “Because,” she choked, firming her grip on the enchanted blade, “because you made me cry, Parvati,” Bella whispered before swiftly cut Girl’s heart out.

And then Bella knelt there, rocking and weeping beside Girl’s cooling body, with Parvati’s heart clutched to her chest. When her well of tears finally ran dry, Bella stood and staggered to her bedside table. Casting a Preservation Charm, she carefully tucked Girl’s heart into a box and spelled it shut. She called the house-elves and instructed them to bury Girl and see to the bloodstains on the carpet and her clothes. She would see to the headstone herself. Later.

For the moment, Bellatrix had a girl to collect. She wasn’t Girl, but no matter—she looked like Girl, and that was enough for now. Bellatrix would have to use her gently, because she wasn’t strong like Girl, but her tears and whimpers would be pleasing. And she would be more pliant in her fear, more likely to let Bella keep her. She wasn’t what Bella wanted, but Bellatrix was well used to making do.

**Author's Note:**

> Note about the phrase "slip her a smile"--in this context, it refers to the act of slitting someone's throat, especially while the victim is caught unawares. The "smile" is the shape of the wound, which looks disturbingly similar to a cartoon smiley face.
> 
> So, this is the first thing I've posted in more than a year. Holy Godsockets. Let me know what you think, yeah?


End file.
